


Lightning Strikes Twice

by DoodlesOfTheMind



Series: Reincarnation AU [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Class Differences, M/M, Prophetic Dreams, References to Past Child Abuse, non-ninja au, reincarnation story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27727271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoodlesOfTheMind/pseuds/DoodlesOfTheMind
Summary: The story of Itachi and the downfall of the Uchiha Clan was but one turn in a never-ending cycle of reincarnation. Centuries later, long after the knowledge of chakra and ninjutsu have faded into obscurity, Itachi and Shisui are born again. Some things, however, never fade completely. Not when the Sharingan lies dormant in their blood.Sequel to Carry Me Softly into the Darkness.
Relationships: Hatake Kakashi/Uchiha Obito, Uchiha Fugaku/Uchiha Mikoto, Uchiha Itachi/Uchiha Shisui
Series: Reincarnation AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2028157
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Lightning Strikes Twice

**Author's Note:**

> Feudal Japan-influenced time period with some creative liberties taken, not a modern AU.

“Itachi, where are you?” Shisui cried, tearing through the manor without a care for the tongue lashing he would get if he woke the Lord of the house, Itachi’s father, or gods take him now, young Sasuke. It didn’t matter. Not after the dream.

_ In it, a barren field was wreathed in flame. Charred, crumbling bones covered what Shisui could see of the ground, releasing a noxious haze of smoke that did nothing to disguise the sickly-sweet odor of disease and rot. At the heart of the firestorm stood Uchiha Itachi, a slender boy dressed in black with defiant eyes and midnight hair that flowed down past his shoulder blades. Flames licked at his pale skin, but they didn’t touch him. Not at first. Slowly, his flesh took on a heated glow, and then it began to crack. And bleed. And blacken. Tears leaked from his eyes only to rise in a cloud of scalding steam. _

_ An indistinct shadow appeared in the distance, making its way toward Itachi. The boy trembled at the sight of it, but he held his ground. The shadow rippled and flickered out of sight, reappearing less than a foot from the boy. Itachi moved with its attack, and flames coated his fist as he struck at the thing’s hidden face. The shadow twisted away, but it didn’t retreat. Fire leapt to its hands and it landed a devastating blow to Itachi’s chest. The boy cried out as skin seared and sloughed away, but he matched the blow with one of his own, and a coruscation of sparks erupted. For a time, the two appeared evenly matched in their lethal dance. The towering shadow had longer range and greater strength, but Itachi was quicker and undaunted by the pain of his injuries. Their movements were a choreographed performance that they had undergone countless times. _

_ Then the shadow spoke. Its low murmur didn’t reach Shisui in the dreamscape, but it froze Itachi in place. The boy stared up at the shadow, which resolved itself into the form of a tall man in traditional samurai armor. Black hair far longer and wilder than Itachi’s hung down his back, and his glowing eyes reflected the inferno around them. He backhanded Itachi, a contemptuous, bonebreaking swat that Itachi should have avoided easily. Itachi didn’t, and he fell to one knee at the man’s feet. The man smiled, slow and cruel, and one hand closed around Itachi’s delicate throat to lift him. He held Itachi there, feet barely brushing the scorched ground, and he bent his head to whisper poison in the boy’s ear. Itachi’s scream was somehow clear and piercing, though the thing’s grip should have choked it to a whimper.  _

_ The man’s free hand lifted, stroking Itachi’s face in a gesture of mock-comfort. Then his fingers dug into Itachi’s eye, tearing the orb away with a gout of blood. The creature resumed his whispering, and his fingers morphed into claws that dragged over Itachi’s marred body in absent patterns. This time, Shisui heard snatches of what the thing said, and his blood ran cold.  _

_ “There, there, little one. This is what you wanted, after all.” _

_ Then he carved out Itachi’s other eye. Blood poured from the ruined holes, and his body arched and spasmed in the creature’s grip until it tossed him aside into the flames. _

_ Itachi lay where he fell, silent as he was consumed, and the creature pocketed his stolen prizes before disappearing. The flames leapt around Itachi like a funeral pyre and the corners of his cracked lips twitched, almost as if he tried to smile. Then they stilled. _

_ And through it all, Shisui did nothing to save him.  _

Shisui jerked awake with his heart pounding, his panicked shout thankfully masked by a sharp crack of thunder as a spring squall raged outside. Now, he cursed his stiff, aching leg to move faster as he raced up the stairs to the eastern wing.

The young Lord wasn’t in his bed when Shisui burst in, gasping and clutching his knee from the exertion. It was hardly unusual for Itachi to be up at odd hours—it would’ve been more strange if he  _ had _ been asleep—but Shisui couldn’t shake the sound of the boy’s voice, raw and tortured. Itachi had always been an eerily quiet child, and at thirteen, he was still reticent and often caught in his own thoughts, prone to locking himself in the library and ignoring the world for days on end.

Shisui ran back to the stairway, listening hard and peering around for any sign that he was being observed. Satisfied that he was alone, he whispered a quick apology to Lady Mikoto and tossed his legs over the banister, skating with virtually no friction as his azure robe slid over the polished wood. He dropped off before he reached the end, turning his forward momentum into a roll that brought him to his feet at the enormous oak doors of the head family’s private library. With a grunt of effort, Shisui shouldered one of them open, but he hardly needed to cross the threshold to know that Itachi wasn’t inside. None of the little round lanterns were lit and there was no mess of papers, scrolls, and books scattered across three low tables as the boy researched whatever had caught his interest this time. No, the room was suspiciously well-kept, indicating that the little tensai hadn’t flown into one of his frenzies tonight.

So where—

“Aaaand you’re dead.” Shisui whirled, scrambling back only to trip over one of the cushions. A tall, silver-haired man shook his head, smirking behind the thin cloth mask that covered the lower half of his face. His single remaining eye crinkled at the corner as he looked down at him. “I taught you better than to put your back to an open door.”

“Kakashi-san!” Shisui gasped as he struggled to get his racing heart under control. “Gods take you, how many times have I asked you to stop doing that?”

Any trace of humor vanished from the older man’s eye when he squatted down to Shisui’s level, pushing his heavy cloak aside to reveal the short sword that he wore over his shoulder, and the set of narrow daggers at his waist. “I know that look. What did you see?”

Shisui froze, fighting the urge to scurry away from him as fast as his throbbing knee would allow. Kakashi commanded the detachment of ANBU that served as the Uchiha clan’s protectors, and as such, he was sworn never to harm even a lowborn orphan like Shisui. Even so, the lethal intent in the soldier’s glare had made Shisui doubt his oath on more than one occasion. 

And he was afraid to admit just how frightening the man’s grim reactions to his dreams were. Shisui had noticed the odd parallels between his visions and reality, but for another person, an adult, to take them to heart made it all too real. The first time, years ago, Shisui had dreamed of a crying Itachi riding his horse one-handed, and that same day, Itachi’s prized stallion panicked as the younger boy gave Shisui his weekly riding lesson. Itachi had broken his right arm in three places, as well as his collarbone. The stubborn child didn’t make a sound, but Shisui ended up having to tether his own horse to the boy’s and lift him back into the saddle before climbing up behind him to take the reins. Every jolting step made Itachi suck in a sharp breath of pain, and he had been nearly unconscious in Shisui’s arms by the time they made it home. 

That was also the first time Shisui had come face-to-mask with a furious Hatake Kakashi, and he’d babbled like an idiot when the man demanded to know  _ exactly _ how the little heir had gotten hurt when he had  _ trusted _ Shisui to care for him. Shisui said something stupid and childish, sobbing about how he knew they shouldn’t have gone out that day, and he could have sworn that Kakashi was going to throw him over the balcony before two of the Captain’s men interfered.

It happened again and again, and Shisui had come to an uneasy understanding with the man as he learned to trust these strange omens. But a dream like this...

“What did you see?” Kakashi snapped, one hand settling on the hilt of his sword. “Answer me!”

“Mind your tone, Kakashi,” a soft voice said.

Kakashi rose and turned toward the door before he lowered himself into a deep bow. “My apologies, Itachi-sama.”

Shisui scrambled to his feet and half-ran to the boy. He was such a mess! His charcoal yukata was dripping all over the wood, drenched from the icy rain, and his hair was windblown and tangled to the point that Shisui couldn’t imagine how he would ever get a brush through it. “Itachi-sama, where have you been? It’s the middle of the night! Come on, let’s get you dry; you must be freezing!” he cried.

Itachi waved him away, but his pale cheeks turned slightly pink at the display of concern. “Are you alright?” he asked quietly, dark eyes drifting to the disturbed cushion, and then to the older man’s unfortunate proximity to where Shisui had been lying only a moment before.

Shisui caught the sudden tension in the Captain’s shoulders as he realized precisely what this must look like. If Kakashi had attacked him, the man could be charged with treason. He had served the Uchiha since he was barely more than a child, as his father had before him, but an accusation from the heir himself would be a death sentence.

“I’m fine, sir, I just fell. You know how my leg is,” Shisui said. “Please, you should change out of these wet clothes before you catch a chill.”

At the reminder of the unseasonable cold, Itachi shivered slightly, his teeth chattering for a moment before he regained control. “It’s nothing.”

Not fooled for an instant, Kakashi hesitantly rose and went to his side, removing his cloak and draping it over the boy’s narrow shoulders. “He’s right, sir. You cannot afford to fall ill so close the spring festival. It’s vital that you be seen as a strong heir for your father. Not to mention that you would be utterly miserable,” he added.

Itachi’s body seemed to curl into the warmth against his will, a tiny quirk lifting one corner of his mouth. “I shall be miserable regardless, as you know. I have little interest in politics.”

“Humor me, boy,” Kakashi murmured fondly. “Get warm and get some rest. Mikoto-sama will have my hide if she discovers that you were out on the roof again, and during a storm, no less.”

Shisui’s jaw dropped. “The roof? Itachi, what the hell? Are you completely mental?”

Itachi clutched the cloak tighter around himself at the rebuke, muttering something about lightning and some rare scroll he’d dug up that mentioned a theory on using it as a power source. The Captain and the older Uchiha boy shared a long look, and Shisui shook his head to indicate that his dream hadn’t involved Itachi falling to his death from the slick shingles. A little of the tension faded from the other man’s body, and after a moment, Kakashi subtly flicked his hand, telling him to see to Itachi for now. No doubt they would continue their discussion later.

Grateful for the reprieve, Shisui put an arm around Itachi and nudged him toward the doorway. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” he said gently. “Just...please be more careful, alright? Going up there alone in weather like this isn’t safe. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Itachi nodded absently, but he looked back over his shoulder with narrowed eyes. “This is the last time you threaten him, Kakashi. He is as much a son of the Uchiha blood as I am.”

Shisui frowned at the ice in Itachi’s words, and more so at the Captain’s silent acceptance. Kakashi could lose his life for something so stupid, and he was just _standing there_... “He didn’t threaten me; he startled me and then I tripped, that’s all. Please don’t be upset with him.”

“When a man of his ability touches a blade, it is a threat,” Itachi said adamantly. “Aside from this, he has no right to speak to you with such disrespect. I will not allow it.”

Shisui chuckled and ruffled the boy’s sopping hair. “Protective little thing, aren’t you? Isn’t it _my_ duty to look after _you_?”

The fury seemed to rush out of Itachi as he leaned into the gesture, burying his face in Shisui’s chest. “I’ll never let anyone hurt you again, Shisui-nii,” Itachi mumbled.

Shisui’s eyes softened and he squeezed the younger boy tightly for a moment as he fought down his memories of the wealthy, childless couple he’d been given to after his father died. Uchiha Asato, and his wife, Michi. Years later, even thinking their names was enough to make him flinch. He’d catered to their every need and blended in with the walls as he flitted about, refilling cups and concealing messes while they entertained their guests. They smiled and talked about what an absolute  _ doll _ he was, quiet, respectful, and timid, but in secret, they had starved and tortured him for three harrowing years. 

The week before Shisui’s tenth birthday, the Uchiha head family had come to their estate, planning to spend a few weeks with their distant cousins in the south while the snows passed at home. Shisui didn’t understand clan politics then, he didn’t know that the southern branch of the Uchiha line were detested by their northern kin and desperate to earn their way back into favor. All he knew was that he was exhausted and weak with hunger, and the caning Michi had given him the night before made it difficult to walk. He had painstakingly approached the tall, stern-looking guest and his wife to offer them each a glass of wine, but he’d stumbled and splashed the expensive vintage across Lady Mikoto’s ivory kimono. She grumbled about how the stains would never come out, but she’d taken the bottle from Shisui’s trembling hands and poured the drinks herself, graciously accepting Michi’s apology that her adoptive son had stayed up so late studying that he was too tired to stand. Never mind that Shisui hadn’t even known how to  _ read _ at the time.

Asato had politely excused himself and Shisui, begging his Lord and Lady’s permission to allow their poor, overworked child to rest, which Lord Fugaku had kindly given. Then he dragged him from the room by the arm, switching his grip to Shisui’s hair once they were out of sight, and threw him down the stairs into the cellar. He must have hit his head, because the next thing he could recall was having a thick leather belt whipped across his face as Michi snarled for her ‘lazy little bastard’ to wake up. By the time she was through, Shisui doubted that there had been a single patch of skin that wasn’t bruised or bleeding, and he knew several bones were broken. Michi had stomped on his right knee one last time, telling him that he was a disgrace and of no worth to the clan, and he was left sobbing in the chilly darkness for what felt like a century.

And then there was a searing line of golden light as the door creaked open. Two wide, wary eyes peered down into the shadows, and the Uchiha heir found him.

“That’s in the past now. You saved my life, and you’ve given me so much...you don’t have to worry about me anymore,” Shisui said tenderly.

Itachi looked up at him uncertainly, then back at Kakashi, and the older man dropped to one knee. “My life is pledged to the Uchiha. Your cousin has nothing to fear from me, though my rudeness to him was certainly uncalled for. I beg your forgiveness...and yours, Shisui-sama.”

“You have it,” Shisui said quickly, feeling his face redden. As a son of the Uchiha blood, he  _ did _ technically merit the honorific from the clan’s ANBU guards or from the servants, but he’d convinced most of them to forgo using it. Except in Itachi’s presence, of course. He winced. “It’s no big deal. Really.”

It took Itachi a while longer to speak, but Shisui and the Captain both breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he did. “On your feet, Kakashi-san. You have not given my family the slightest cause to distrust you, and I am confident that you never will. I apologize for my outburst.”

Kakashi rose warily. “No need to apologize, Itachi-sama. Most would have delivered far more than heated words to someone who mistreated a friend. But then, you were never cursed with your father’s temper.”

Itachi’s lips parted, but then they pressed themselves together and he nodded silently.

“Will you please come upstairs?” Shisui asked tentatively. “Let me help you clean up, sir. You’re shaking.”

“You are not a servant, Shisui-nii,” he protested, but he still leaned into Shisui’s arm when the older boy adjusted the thick cloak around his body, doubling the fabric up to wrap over his shoulders again instead of dragging on the floor. 

“I know that, but I also know that without me, you’d stay up all night reading some dusty old book. Then you’d fall asleep in these wet clothes and make yourself sick.” Itachi started to argue, but Shisui put a finger over his frigid lips. “Tell me that’s not precisely what you were going to do.”

The boy sighed in frustrated acquiescence, and Shisui smiled. “Upstairs, sir. Please?”

Itachi nodded tiredly and let Shisui steer him out of the library. When they reached the foot of the wide staircase, Shisui bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning. Gods, it was such a long way up, and his knee  _ already _ felt like it was on fire. He’d be lucky to walk properly tomorrow, let alone manage any training for the spring tournament.  _ Why does it matter? _ he thought dully, guiding the young heir up the first few steps.  _ Itachi’s going to win, and I’m just going to get thrashed again.  _ The Uchiha were supposedly descended from an ancient clan of shinobi, and children were still trained in martial arts almost from birth. Shisui had watched Itachi practice in the family’s dojo during his long recovery from Michi’s final assault, and he had eventually found the courage to stumble along beside him as the little prodigy refined his skills. Itachi was always patient and attentive as his unofficial sensei, but even so, there were _ girls _ half his age who could clobber Shisui without breaking a sweat. And they did. Every goddamn year.

Shisui offered a silent thank you to the gods, and to Hatake Kakashi, when he saw that a fire had been kindled in the hearth, and Itachi’s private bath was already filled with steaming water from the hot spring behind the manor. Whatever the man’s faults, he had taken care of Itachi since the day the Uchiha heir was born.

Very gently, Shisui undid the tie of Itachi’s yukata, wincing when the boy shivered at the cool air against his bare skin. “Sorry, ‘Tachi. You’ll be warm in a second, I promise,” he murmured.

The words brought a little more awareness to Itachi’s tired eyes, and he took a step back. “I don’t need your help. You should get some rest. ”

Shisui matched that step and eased the dripping cloth back from Itachi’s shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Then his eyes fell on a vicious, blackened bruise that ran the length of Itachi’s ribs. “What the hell is this?”

“Evidence that I must devote more time to my defensive techniques. Kagura-sensei assures me that nothing is broken,” Itachi said quietly.

Shisui glanced down to find similar bruises on Itachi’s knees and shins from where he must have fallen after the blow. And another on the side of his thigh, as if he’d been kicked while trying to get to his feet. “Itachi, tell me who did this,” Shisui ordered. “Now.”

The boy turned away, and Shisui hissed in outrage when he saw another dark purple bruise over one kidney. Itachi quickly turned back, trying to hide it as he lowered himself into the scalding water. His mouth opened in a silent scream at the shock of heat against his chilled flesh, but after a few minutes, his body adjusted and he sagged against the side. “There was a visitor to the dojo. He asked me for a match, and...I haven’t lost so badly since I was a child,” he whispered. “Otou-san was furious with me.”

Shisui bit his tongue as he picked up the cloth beside the tub and lathered it with soap. The boy made a small noise of protest, but Shisui swept Itachi’s hair forward over his shoulder and started gently washing his back. It took a moment, but Itachi let out a nearly inaudible sigh and his head dipped forward in surrender. 

“I know it isn’t my place to say this, but I don’t like the way Fugaku-sama pushes you,” Shisui said, choosing his words carefully. “He demands so much of you that it’s cruel. You’re amazingly talented, but you’re gonna lose sometimes. That’s just a fact, not some kind of personal failure.”

Itachi shook his head, but he didn’t argue, and Shisui carefully worked shampoo into the boy’s hair. Itachi offered no further resistance, and by the time Shisui was finished rinsing it clean, his dark eyes had slipped closed. Shisui stilled for a moment, just watching Itachi’s muscles slowly relax and mold themselves into the water’s embrace. The tired lines under his eyes lightened somewhat, and a hint of a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He hesitated to touch him again, but Itachi’s expression didn’t change in the slightest when he tentatively ran the soapy cloth over his thigh. He was painstakingly cautious as he avoided the swollen bruises that marred the boy’s legs, but he dug his fingers into the muscles of Itachi’s left foot when he reached it. The sensation tore a low groan from Itachi’s throat.

“Like that, do you?” he teased, maintaining firm, steady pressure as he massaged the boy’s foot.

“You should not be doing things like this,” Itachi muttered, but he didn’t pull away. His eyelids didn’t even flutter.

“I see nothing wrong with spoiling you,” Shisui said. It was an old argument, and one he rarely lost anymore. Even so, he still remembered the first time he’d brought Itachi some tea and onigiri while he was lost in the library, absorbing information like a sponge did water. It had taken three or four uncertain repetitions of the little boy’s name to draw his attention, but Itachi finally glanced up to see Shisui holding a silver tray on one trembling arm, his other hand grasping the cane that he used to keep his weight off his healing leg. Without a word, Itachi stormed out of the room he’d been in for two solid days, and if everyone’s sudden return to cautious formality with Shisui was any indication, the row between Itachi and his father must have been brutal. Itachi didn’t come near Shisui again for most of three weeks, and it was Kakashi who had finally taken him aside, quietly relaying the words the child had all but screamed.

_You speak of how I saved him from the cruelty of our cousins, of the compassion I show him. You tell our people that my concern for even the ‘least’ of our clansmen shows my worth as a leader, yet you would treat him little better than they did!_

“Shisui?” Itachi murmured tiredly.

“Right here.”

“What really happened?”

Shisui sighed. “I had a...I had another dream. And it was bad. Really bad, ‘Tachi. I got up to make sure you were alright, but you weren’t here. When I checked the library, Kakashi-san did that thing where he appears out of nowhere and it scared the hell out of me. He wanted to know what I saw, but he never drew a weapon, never laid a hand on me. You have my word.”

“Superstitious nonsense,” Itachi muttered.

“I don’t think it is, though,” Shisui said. “They all come true, in one way or another. And Kakashi-san says that your cousin Obito used to do the same thing before...before he died.”

“Obito-nii dreaming about Kakashi had nothing to do with some mystical ability to see the future,” Itachi said wryly.

Shisui bowed his head. He’d seen the naked pain in Kakashi’s eyes the night the Captain had told him about Obito. He sat on the floor of the dojo, listening with rapt attention to the soldier’s halting words as he recounted his relationship with a son of the family he’d sworn to protect. Kakashi had turned away when he’d spoken of the seemingly prophetic dreams Obito had, all of them about Kakashi. He’d find little origami shapes on his nightstand—cranes, cats, dogs—all with messages scrawled hastily inside. _Don’t go off the property today. Take someone with you on patrol for the next few days. Come see me tonight._ Later, these same sorts of messages would show up in Kakashi’s tent when the Uchiha went to war. _Watch the skies—archers or forestmen._ _I miss you. If you see Iwa’s standard flying, run. Don’t trust the Kiri envoy. You’re not going to die here, Kakashi; I won’t let that happen._

Shisui peeked at Itachi through his eyelashes and gently squeezed the boy’s foot. “Come on, ‘Tachi, you need to get to bed. I’m sure it’s after midnight.”

Within minutes, Shisui had Itachi dry and dressed in a pale blue sleeping yukata. The boy stretched out on his stomach on the low bed and Shisui sat beside him, gently pulling an ivory comb through his damp hair. There was a muffled mutter of “...shouldn’t be doing this...” but Shisui only shushed him. Some part of him had always admired Itachi’s hair, long and flowing and silky-straight, such a contrast to the messy curls that predominated in the south. He remembered lying drugged and bandaged in one of the guest beds the morning after Itachi found him in the cellar. The little boy sat cross-legged in a chair on the other side of the room, silent and still as a statue, with Kakashi standing at attention behind him; Itachi fell asleep like that, and his hair hung like a veil across his face. More than a little delirious from the pain medication, Shisui recalled thinking that if his arm would just stretch a few more feet, he’d be able to touch it and find out if it was really as soft as it looked.

Itachi shifted slightly as the comb’s teeth got caught in a tangle, and Shisui murmured soothing words in the boy’s ear as he carefully worked it free.


End file.
